Banana Pancakes
by cemeteriesoflondon
Summary: He hopes banana pancakes just means adding banana to the pancake mixture. Tony surprises Ziva with breakfast. Fluff from every angle.


**Agh, so here's more fluff. It's the same as _You Slow It Down_ - it started off as a drabble but this song is just too cute to stop there. I would count this as OOC at any other time but I declare anything I post IC until Faith airs. Two weeks and _nothing_ is OOC, I don't care if Ziva is dancing to Hey Mickey and Tony is the backup vocals. I am dying a little inside at the fact that my Wednesdays are now bleak. Anyway. I've got more to say, but I'll say it at the bottom because while it gets extremely obvious near the end (I think), I don't want to make the ending _so_ obvious.  
**

**The song and title of this oneshot (I blow myself away at my creativity) is thanks to Jack Johnson's _Banana Pancakes_.  
**

* * *

Banana Pancakes

_It's just so easy,_

_When the whole word fits inside of your arms._

_Do we really need to pay attention to the alarm?_

_Wake up, wake up slow._

He stirs as the alarm goes off and but it's Ziva who makes the first move to get out of bed. Before she can pull back the blankets and move out of his arms, he tightens his grip around her waist, not wanting to lose her warmth so soon. She protests about running and work but her protests fall on deaf ears. He knows as well as she does that even she doesn't want to be subjected to the weather this morning; it's nearing winter and the chill in the mornings is becoming more prominent. They always said that the best source of heat was from another's naked body, anyway. Or something along those lines. She stops her dutiful complaints at his morning laziness but has one request.

"Let me put the alarm clock on snooze, at least."

He laughs and kisses the back of her head as his arms loosen their grip and allow her to lean forward enough to hit a button on the alarm that falls silent. She's back against him straight away, her eyes drifting shut as her head nuzzles the pillow. He smiles at the motion and closes his eyes as well, his forehead resting against the back of her head. He doesn't fall back to sleep, but he doesn't wait for the alarm to start again either. Instead he listens to her breathing - not even enough to be asleep, but steady enough to be on the cusp of it.

He takes joy in her compliance; most mornings they're together, she's pulling on her clothes and leaving far too early and laughing between jabs at his morning routine (or lack of). While those mornings are good, too, he's glad he doesn't have to let go of her yet. He has to do it all day at work. Though he's paying attention to her breaths, he can hear the rain outside and it only encourages him to stay in bed with Ziva all day. Who wants to be outside, anyway? He hopes murderers have the same idea, too, and refrain from anything that is cause for fieldwork today.

He's so comfortable that he starts to drift from consciousness but again, the alarm starts up. His groan is drowned out by the sound and he wonders if he can convince Gibbs that both he and Ziva are sick. No. Stuck in traffic? Plausible, just not to Gibbs.

Ziva switches the alarm off and he knows that he'll have to get up soon. She rolls over to face him and before he can say what's on the tip off his tongue, she cuts him off.

"Do not say it, Tony." It's a warning but he can't see why she insists it's just another day. He considers saying it anyway, then kissing her in hopes of providing a distraction, but he decides morning breath would probably ruin the moment.

Instead, he opts for kissing her lightly on the nose and saying nothing. He wonders when he turned into such a romantic but laughs because this time it's Ziva who snaps them from the moment.

"I think you missed my lips," she says and he does it again to show he didn't miss at all. He hasn't said anything yet, but they've already communicated three times. She smiles at the repeated gesture and does it herself before rolling out of bed, announcing she is going to take a shower. Suddenly the bed doesn't seem so appealing.

He doesn't follow Ziva to the bathroom, he slips on a pair of boxers and wonders if he has everything he needs to follow through on his idea. He's sure he does, because there isn't much to it; she can't really have any protests about this small gesture.

He walks down the hall, past the bathroom where he can hear the shower running. He resists the urge to join Ziva inside and continues to the kitchen where last night's wine glasses sit discarded with dregs of liquid inside. He rinses them and digs around for the ingredients, feeling lucky that nothing is out of date. He warms the fry pan and mixes the batter; he hopes banana pancakes just means adding banana to the pancake mixture. Breakfast isn't his thing – cold pizza or store bought coffee and a Danish suffice. Cooking isn't his thing either, he just appreciates a fine meal when it is someone else's creation, but he knows anything else well be seen as too out of ordinary, even if it's not a gift.

He pours part of the batter into the fry pan and he hopes Ziva stays in the shower a little longer. He wants everything to be ready by the time she finishes showering. If she comes out to breakfast ready and waiting, maybe she won't tell him he's making too much a big deal, because really, she knows him well enough to know he doesn't do breakfast. He flips the pancake and makes a start on the coffee.

As he's waiting, he considers the change in himself. It's not much of a change, really, just a desire for something more than sex and honestly, it's been like that for a while. It could never only be sex with Ziva in the long run, anyway, so after the first time he told her that. She  
agreed. And now, the teasing is still there and he's still pushing her buttons like mad, but when she purses her lips, he knows as long as no one is watching, he can kiss them.

He starts on another pancake and mentally praises himself for not burning the first one. He thinks he might actually be able to pull this off. More than breakfast – hopefully she won't find out about the dinner reservations. He's almost following her rules: no presents, no acting like the day is anything special. There's no jewelery for her, even though he eyed the jewelers whenever he drove past it this week. The restaurant is a dress and suit kind of place, but it's smaller and more private. It's not over the top.

The shower stops and he thinks he'll be finished by the time Ziva enters the kitchen. The rain is getting heavier outside and he is willing the phone to ring, for Gibbs to call in and say that they needn't come to work. The office is flooded. He laughs out loud because he knows if it were up to Gibbs in that situation, he would tell them to sit on their desks if the water level rose too much.

He suspects that Gibbs knows about his relationship with Ziva. The man knows it all, but so far, nothing from their private life has become an issue at work, so despite the occasional glare, Gibbs seems to be acting like nothing is going on. He's just not sure if it's because Gibbs trusts their judgement or because they've done nothing to confirm his suspicions (they've managed to button up their shirts or snap themselves from eye sex just in time).

The bathroom door opens and Ziva walks out in fresh clothes. She tries to scowl at him while he grins sheepishly, a plate of banana pancakes in hand, but her eyes are warm and soon her smile is, too. She obediently sits at the table as he hands her coffee and her plate and she makes a comment about the pancakes looking good, and thank you, even if it is too much.

He decidedly doesn't care if his romantic side is showing more often. He sits down next to Ziva and goes to kiss her cheek, but she turns her head and his lips end up on hers. He keeps them there for a second then pulls back, smiling as she takes a bite of the pancakes. With her mouth full, she can't cut him off as he says what he was going to earlier.

"Happy birthday, Ziva."

* * *

**Oh, I told you I was _creative_. It was never going to be Ziva's birthday in this but my sleuthing skills changed that. According to Ziva's bio page over on the NCIS Squadroom, she's 27. Then according to her ibeatyou profile, she's 28. _Apparently_ it's her official page, from that episode last season where she air-guitared**. **So, in the past year, I guess, she has turned 28 (I believe the ibeatyou thing is official - BeltwayBurns is real). Then, apparently she is a scorpio. When do scorpios celebrate their birthdays? November. Or late October. Anyway. November. What month was it in Child's Play? November. My sleuthing skills have lead me to believe that Ziva recently celebrated her 28th birthday. I felt that deserved a mention. I am probably so off but it seems plausible to me, right now. I'm not sure if 28 is pushing credibility with what she's apparently done, but I'll play along even if it's not. I like to have some idea of character's ages. This could really be set at any time. Her age doesn't have anything to do with it, just her birthday. Have it set whenever you deem appropriate.  
**

**So, back to this fic. Completely clichéd, whatever. We can totes see Tony acting like that. But that's the beauty of fanfiction. I've been writing in present tense a lot, lately. Experimenting, you know, all that. It felt a little bit awkward at times so I'll probably switch back to my usual style. Chalk it up to experience and all that jazz. **


End file.
